


Dauntless

by ShakeThatCocktail



Category: Divergent (Movies), The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Divergent Fusion, Attempted Murder, Bellamy is Dauntless, Bellamy is Four, Bellarke, Canon, Clarke is Tris, Divergent, Divergent AU, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Heteronormativity, Inspired, Making Love, Murphy is Eric, Smut, Snapshots, Tattoos, Throwing Knives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:19:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4093738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShakeThatCocktail/pseuds/ShakeThatCocktail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1- Clarke first arriving at Dauntless headquarters and meeting Bellamy</p><p>2- Throwing knives</p><p>3- The Ferris Wheel </p><p>4- Clarke being attacked on the ledge </p><p>5- Clarke and Bellamy's first kiss and spending the night</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "First Jumper- Clarke"

**Author's Note:**

> Thought this up last night and seemed like a good idea :P
> 
> It's been so long since I've seen Divergent, so please excuse any mistakes I make in the plot, but I may make some of them to fit with the 100 cast
> 
> Enjoy and, as always; kudoses, comments, and bookmarks welcome :) xxx

Clarke tried to hide her discomfort about her grazed knees, her long grey skirt having been hitched up as she'd jumped from the train carriage, the gravel digging into her skin and making it bleed. Raven stood next to her, chest heaving as she tried to contain her giddy laughter at their ridiculous- and dangerous- stunt. The two new friends moved with the rest of their group towards the opposite ledge of the building, where a tall stocky guy dressed in black leather and studs stood. He had black tattoos that looked like building blocks running in two lines down his neck, and he had piercings in his eyebrows and plugs in his ears. Their dull surfaces didn't shine in the light of the harsh sun. As she walked, Clarke discreetly held out the front of her dress away from her knees so the rough fabric didn't catch on the loose skin of her legs.

"What, you think you're a princess or somethin'?" Someone asked beside her, and Clarke turned her head to see a guy with chiselled features sneer at her skirt. She was about to retort when the voice of the guy on the ledge rang out over the crowd of initiates.

"Alright, listen up!" His voice echoed slightly off of the industrial buildings around them. "My name's Murphy, I'm one of your leaders. If you wanna enter Dauntless," he jerked his thumb back over his shoulder, and everyone craned their necks to see over the ledge, but they could see nothing but the twenty-metre-easy drop, "this is the way in. If you don't have the guts to jump, then you don't belong in Dauntless." His tone and posture immediately became condescending, and Clarke's lip immediately began to curl.

"Is there water at the bottom, or something?" Another initiate called out, a skinny Asian boy with dark eyes and fluffy hair, and Murphy huffed a laugh.

"I'll guess you'll find out," he replied simply, shutting the initiate up. "Or not," he added, shrugging once.

"We just jumped, and they want us to do it again?" Raven muttered to Clarke, her eyebrows raised, and the blonde looked back at her friend with an unsurprised look.

"Someone's gotta go first," Murphy goaded, surveying the crowd. "Who's it gonna be?" Everyone was quiet. Not even the Erudite kids were whispering anymore. Neither were the Candor ones. Clarke realised that if no one spoke up soon, they'd be sent down, despite if they were ready for the drop or not.

"Me," she said aloud, and all the initiates turned to look at her. She locked eyes with Raven, who seemed to be telepathically asking her if she was crazy. The Dauntless born seemed to look at her with surprise and annoyance, whist the Erudite looked as if they were trying to analyse her. She hesitantly walked towards the ledge, the crowd parting before her. Murphy said nothing as he jumped down from the ledge, staring at her while Clarke stared straight ahead. Once she was flush with the waist-high ledge, she took the opportunity to bend over it to look where she was jumping, and she felt her stomach twist and heart skip. Now closer, she could make out a half-shadowed hole, about eight metres in diameter, that was meant to be her target. She wasn't that smart, but Clarke knew this was going to be tricky. She shrugged off her long rugged overcoat, ignoring the wolf-whistles of one of the Candor initiates, and hesitantly climbed up, her boots doing well and not slipping on the angled ledge. Her skirt whipped in the breeze, and she realised it was much stronger up there than it was on the rooftop, and she swallowed heavily.

"Today, initiate," Murphy prodded behind her, sounding half-bored, half-fed up. Clarke closed her eyes and took a deep breath, ignoring the wind whistling in her ears and the sound of the blood rushing in her veins. She wasn't one for leaps of faith; she'd never had to take one before, but right then she took her first and jumped. She gasped as the wind caught her, raising her skirts up to her waist. She felt her stomach drop, her heart stop beating, and she felt so sure that she was going to miss the hole and smash her bones into tiny pieces once she hit the roof. But Clarke kept falling. The bright sunlight was immediately replaced by darkness and cool air, and she let out a surprised gasp when she hit what felt like netting. She rebounded back up into the air a little, only to be caught again in the net and settle down. Clarke lay there for a moment, catching her breath, staring up at the bright circle above her. Indistinguishable figures looked down at her, and she let out a delirious little giggle. She'd done it. She'd passed the first test. She'd entered Dauntless.

Clarke let out a surprised squeak as one side of the net was pulled, changing her angle drastically and causing her to slide towards the edge. She rolled once before coming face-to-face with the most handsome man she had ever seen. He had tanned skin, only slightly marred with a single scar above his lip, and curly black hair. Freckles dotted his cheeks almost indistinctly, and his olive eyes searched her face. She thought she could almost see a trace of disbelief in his eyes. "What, you get pushed?" He asked, clicking his strong jaw to the right.

"No," Clarke replied, feeling a little hurt, but she expected that reaction. She was Abnegation. They weren't supposed to do, or even think about doing, something like jumping first. The man pulled the net harder and Clarke slipped into his arms, and he gently lowered her to the floor. She could feel the strength in his shoulders as he lifted her skinny frame.

"What's your name?" He asked her brusquely as she righted herself, trying to regain her balance on her jelly legs. "If you're name's a hard one you can pick a new one. But make it good, 'cause you don't get to pick again," he warned.

"Clarke," she replied, still a little breathless, thought she wasn't sure if it was from the adrenaline leaving her body or the sight of her greeter. The man seemed to ponder this information for a moment, letting out a quiet sigh, before announcing,

"First jumper- Clarke!"

The group of Dauntless members Clarke hadn't noticed before let out weak whoops and cries of "Clarke!". The man looked back at her, his eyes dropping to take in the rest of her body.

"Welcome to Dauntless," he said, and Clarke couldn't contain her grin as a group member led her away from the net as the man turned away to pulled down the screaming Candor initiate who'd jumped second.


	2. Throwing Knives

Clarke couldn't help the little swells of pride in her chest as all four of her throwing knives had hit within her bullseye. Raven cast her a wary sideways glance from beside her. Only two of her knives had hit the bullseye so far.

"You're kinda good at this," she remarked, and Clarke responded with a polite smile. Her new tattoo- two birds flying over her collarbone- still itched a little, but the woman who gave it to her said not to touch it for three days, so she channelled the energy she wanted to use to scratch into throwing her knives. Her next one went so deep it was nearly buried into the rubber to its hilt. Clarke tried not to listen to the exchange happening on her other side. Wells, the dark-skinned Erudite, threw a knife that didn't even hit the metal surrounding the target, and Murphy snorted behind him.

"That was pathetic," he commented, and Wells swallowed. Clarke threw another knife.

"It slipped," Wells replied, and Murphy raised his pierced eyebrow.

"Well, go get it!" He said loudly, and a few of the other initiates stopped their task. Most continued in fear of invoking Murphy's wrath. Bellamy stood away from the commotion, at the other end of the range. Wells looked at his fallen knife, and he flinched when another knife clattered to the floor beside it. He turned to look back at his leader.

"While they're still throwing?" He asked hesitantly.

"Are you afraid?"

"Of being stabbed by an air-borne knife? Yeah," Wells replied. Murphy's face remained stony.

"Everybody stop," Murphy commanded, and the thuds and clatters that filled the range ceased almost instantly. Clarke watched on in fear of Murphy's next move, and she couldn't help but contain the shiver that racked her body as Bellamy walked close behind her to lean against the table behind his fellow leader. "Go stand in front of the target," Murphy ordered quietly, and Wells didn't offer another look as he did so. "Bellamy, gimme a hand here?" Bellamy's face twisted as he walked up to Murphy, and Clarke stared at him, unsure how to feel. "You are going to stand there," Murphy said, advancing slowly towards a tense Wells as he had his back flat against the rubber target, "while Bellamy throws his knives at you, and if I see you flinch, you're out." Wells' Adam's apple bobbed violently. Clarke looked over her shoulder to see Bellamy pick up five throwing knives, his hands not trembling and his face unreadable, as Murphy went on a tangent about how orders in Dauntless were not optional. _Had this kind of thing happened before in order for Bellamy to be so calm?_ He came to stand beside Clarke, in Wells' spot, flicking one knife over and over in his hand. His shoulders were tense, yet his throwing arm remained loose, and Clarke was scared of how predatory he look. His green eyes never moved from Wells. Murphy gave a mock bow, signalling for the performance to start. Clarke could immediately tell that Bellamy had no way of hitting the target and missing Wells- he was too stocky in frame and the only target visible was around his calves. Bellamy was about to let the knife fly when Clarke spoke up.

"Stop."

Murphy and Bellamy both turned to look at her, one in disbelief, one in confusion.

"Anyone can stand in front of a target. It doesn't prove anything," she stated.

"Well, then it should be easy for you to take his place?" It sounded like a suggestion, yet Clarke knew it was an order. She held her head high as she walked towards Wells, who slunk away without even looking at her, before leaning back against the target, trying to keep her body relaxed. She knew she was tiny compared to the target, so Bellamy had some way of keeping his reputation if he missed by more than an inch. Her head only came up into the next area of the target. "Same rules apply," Murphy warned her, before he backed safely away to stand behind Bellamy. Clarke could hear the blood roaring in her ears, and she tried to take as many deep breaths as she could while looking directly into Bellamy's eyes. They were unreadable. She was halfway through a breath when a knife thudded into the wooden surrounding of the target without warning, and she knew that Bellamy had missed the target on purpose. He was showing her what she'd gotten into. "C'mon Bellamy," Murphy teased, and Bellamy licked his lips before pausing a moment to take aim. His next knife buried itself in the surrounding no more than three inches from her cheek. "You can get closer than that," Murphy said.

"Want me to give her a lil' trim?" Bellamy asked, and Murphy nodded.

"Yeah, just a little off the top," he replied, and Clarke's face turned stony. They were playing a game with her. Bellamy locked eyes with her one more as he adjusted his position, giving her the tiniest of smiles as he let another knife fly. Clarke still didn't flinch, and none of the initiates dared to breathe. She could feel the vibrations through the rubber as the knife had buried itself in it an inch above her crown. She barely had time to take another breathe before Bellamy let the last knife go, and Clarke gasped, but didn't flinch. She could feel a small slice of heat on the shell of her ear, and the smooth handle of the knife pressed against her temple. "Points for bravery, Clarke," Murphy said, "but not as many as you've lost for opening your mouth. So watch yourself." He turned to the other initiates. "We train soldiers, not rebels. Now get out. We're done for today." All the initiates and Murphy left in a cloud of muted chatter, and Bellamy turned away from the targets to the weapons table. Clarke could feels tears spring to her eyes, but she blinked them away as she strode past him.

"You alright?" he asked, his deep voice not showing any modicum of concern.

"You hit me," Clarke stated as she strode past, face passive. She stopped when Bellamy said,

"I meant to."

Clarke looked at him, incredulous. "You meant to?" She repeated.

"What, did you think he was going to let you go without a scratch?" Bellamy asked, looking at her, one of his eyebrows raised. "You'd still be standing there if I hadn't of hit you."

"So am I supposed to thank you?" She asked, watching him gather the knives together and separating them into their individual pouches. Bellamy just looked at her.

"You're supposed to be smart," he said, and Clarke was taken back by how angry and upset he sounded. "And if I'd wanted to hurt you, I would've." Clarke just looked at him with a mix of disgust and confusion as he walked away. 


	3. "You're Afraid Of Heights"

"Alright, so what's your plan?" Bellamy asked his team. He enjoyed playing Capture the Flag, yet playing against Murphy's team always seemed to suck the fun out of it. Not because of the fact that it was a little, somewhat-friendly competition, but the act he had to try so hard not to get hit by a neuro-stim dart. He'd been hit in the neck by one during one of his first games and it caused him to have a permanent twitch in his neck whenever he played. Immediately, multiple members of his team spoke up at once, drowning each other out and making snide comments at each other's ideas.

"Who put you in charge?" Raven asked, hand on her hip as she stared down Wick, an initiate from Erudite. The blond boy stood up straighter.

"Well, someone has to make a decision!" He responded, and Raven snorted. Bellamy rolled his eyes. His team was definitely going to lose. Despite himself, he found his eyes drifting over his team from beneath the brim of his baseball hat in search of Clarke, but he couldn't see her blue eyes or blonde hair anywhere close. However, he did see a slight figure walking away from them in the close distance, and he left his team to argue amongst themselves. He trailed her to the old Ferris Wheel, which creaked in the slight breeze that whipped around them.

"You're not gonna jump, are you?" he called up to her when Clarke was halfway up the first ladder. She turned her head to look down on him, holding onto the rungs with one hand, and he really hoped she wouldn't slip. She wouldn't have any serious damage to her done from that height, but she'd probably twist and ankle or wrist and that could seriously hurt her chances of playing. She'd already taken a beating from Octavia, and Bellamy didn't think she'd be up for any more injury.

"No," she replied. "I"m just trying to get a good vantage point."

Bellamy was impressed. "Good thinking," he complimented as he shrugged off his own dart gun, placing where Clarke had left hers, and proceeded to climb up.

"You don't have to come with me," she responded. She sounded winded and disgruntled, but Bellamy ignored her.

"You should go easy. You took a beating." Clarke shrugged as she continued to climb.

"I'm surprised you even noticed." Bellamy raised his head to look up at her, dragging his eyes away from her protruding ass and focusing on the tail of her jacket. "Since you didn't stick around to watch."

"Wasn't exactly something I wanted to watch," he replied, and he looked back down at his hands, missing the way Clarke paused for a moment at his comment. Did that sound like _caring_? She swallowed and continued to climb. The wheel creaked and groaned louder the higher up they went, the wind brushing their hair into their faces. Bellamy had caught up to his partner, his hands only two rungs from her feet, and he felt his heart lurch into his mouth as the rung beneath Clarke's foot snapped, nearly causing her to plummet twenty feet to the cold, hard ground. She slipped a little back into him, and Bellamy wrapped a thick arm around her waist, holding her to him whilst she tried to replace her foot. She hissed a little, and Bellamy loosened his hold, realising his arm had been pressing on her bruises from earlier that day. "You good?" he asked, keeping a hand on her thigh even after she'd gotten her footing back.

"I'm fine," Clarke replied, trying to internally shake off the ghost of Bellamy's touch on the bare patch of skin that was accessible through a rip in her trousers. She had only advanced a few more rungs when Bellamy said,

"Think that's enough."

She surveyed their surroundings for a moment before saying, "No, we need to go higher." She only stopped moving when she realised she couldn't hear a second pair of footsteps on the rungs below her. She stopped and looked down at Bellamy to see that he hadn't moved from his previous height. She watched him look down at the ground and take deep breaths. "You're afraid of heights," she noted with a small smile, and Bellamy looked up at her.

"Everyone's afraid of something," he said seriously, and Clarke took a moment to process this new information. Looks like Bellamy did have a weakness, after all.

"I didn't think you were afraid of anything," she said, trying to sound nonchalant as she continued to climb higher. She had a feeling Bellamy was going to back away and leave her to go up the rest of the way alone. He'd already come that far. A secret smile stretched across her face as she heard the second pair of footsteps ring on the ladder rungs. As she began to climb up over the central pivot of the Ferris Wheel, she heard Bellamy breathe behind her,

"C'mon, Clarke."

It was a plea she wasn't supposed to hear. She grunted as she pushed herself up between various axels and rungs and metal sheets, gaining height on her partner.

"Really?" Bellamy asked, and Clarke grinned. "Are you even human?" He followed her up, legs a little shaky, between crossed beams. One misplaced step could've sent him hurtling to the ground with no chance of recovery. Clarke stopped on the third cross-bar up, and Bellamy let out a thankful, shaky breath. As he reached for the bar above his head that Clarke was holding onto, he became perilously close to holding her hand, so Clarke quickly slipped it out of the way before Bellamy could pull himself up.

"This isn't so bad," she commented, looking up at the moon before looking at Bellamy's face. His tanned skin had gone pale, and where she had only broken a light sweat, Bellamy's forehead was dotted with beads of perspiration. His eyes were an even paler green in the moonlight, and Clarke really couldn't stop herself from noticing how beautiful they were. He gave her a weak smile, and she smiled back, trying to install some confidence in him. Bellamy looked down and made a woozy noise, and Clarke couldn't not notice that having him in this situation made him so much more human and approachable than he was on the ground. The hard lines of his face were still there, but they weren't harsh like they were when he was surrounded by initiates or Murphy.

"I can see the flag!" She exclaimed, and Bellamy followed her extended finger as it pointed towards the abandoned town hall, where the luminescent green flag hung in the bell tower. The leader grinned at her.

"What's your plan?" he asked.


	4. Rescue

Clarke hated walking through the tunnels when all the main lights had gone out. The walls glowed with a green hue, and it made her skin crawl and made her want to run as quickly as possible. It must've been later than she thought, because she could hear no noise drifting down the corridor than led to the cafeteria, and no one was using the passages to get to the bunks. She walked through one of the many crossroads, and immediately stopped when she heard a crash down one of the tunnels. Cautiously curious, Clarke backed up a little so she could see if anyone was there. The tunnel was just as dark as the one she was walking down. She screamed when she felt something forceful clamp over her mouth, but her sounds were muffled by fabric. Three black-clad figures accosted her, picking her up, but she twisted and lashed out, freeing her legs and being able to kick one of them to the floor. The figure who had clamped a hand over her mouth had now secured her shoulders, and the other was able to grab both of her legs and hoist her up off the floor. The one she'd kicked down had gotten back up, and caught hold of her legs as she twisted out of the other's grip again. They were strong, and she could see that they were broad underneath their black clothing. Black balaclavas covered their faces, and they seemed to be doing everything they could not to talk or give away their voices.

Clarke realised how grave the situation was when she realised they were carrying her towards the bridge where Murphy had kicked Raven off to test her, and she remembered how cold and slippery that part of the tunnels was. She began to struggle more violently, and she hissed as she caught the back of her hand on the rough wall as she struck out. They didn't take her to the bridge, however, but instead to a ledge a little way down from it. It was still just as cold, and if you looked close enough, the floor shimmered with a light frost. They put her down and Clarke saw her chance to shoulder through them and get away, but they immediately crowded her in and tried to force her over the edge. She put all her weight on her tiptoes and pushed forward, making it harder for them to push her back.

"C'mon!" One of them grunted. "Get over!" Clarke clawed at him, catching the top of his balaclava and ripping it from him, revealing the shocked and saddened face of Wells. Clarke stared at him in disbelief, absolutely sickened that one of her friends was trying to kill her. He immediately backed away, pressing himself up against the wall as his partners tried the method of yanking her clothes backwards in order to make her fall. She tried to dig her fingers into the seams of their clothing, but her nails were too short and her hands were too sweaty to cling properly.

"Hey!" A voice shouted, and Bellamy burst around the corner, getting a tight grip on the nearest assailant's clothing and yanking him back, punching him hard in the stomach. While he was winding, he grabbed the other and slammed him into the wall where Wells was, both of them grunting in pain and falling over. Clarke immediately ran to stand behind the corner, peaking out just enough to watch the fight, heart ready to almost burst out of her chest. The one Bellamy punched in the stomach came at him, and Bellamy grabbed his outstretched hand and used it to swing him around and knock into one of the other assailants, before flipping him over his shoulder. He stayed down on the narrow ledge, his arm hanging off the side. Wells came at him, in hopes of completing his plan and getting away, but he was cumbersome and lunged on the wrong foot, making it easy for Bellamy to turn him and smash his face into the rough rock wall. He cried out in pain as he fell to the floor, a bloody patch left of the wall and a red river flowing from his nose. The Dauntless leader immediately went to Clarke, who backed up a little behind the wall, immediately placing his hands on her arms to stop her jittering. "You alright?" he asked, eyes darting all over her face.

"Yeah," Clarke breathed out, so quietly that Bellamy almost didn't hear it. He let his hands slide down her arms, leaving only one resting lightly on the small of her back as he led her away.

"Let's get you outta here."

__________

Clarke was slouched on the end of Bellamy's bed, waiting for Bellamy to return to her. He'd lead her towards the bunks, but then had taken her up a short staircase she'd never noticed before that was carved into the wall down a little passage. The staircase opened up into fresh air, revealing the night sky, with a single thin yellowish-orange line above the horizon that signified the sun had set long ago. Stars were already twinkling. Bellamy led her along metal balconies and up rusty old escape staircases attached to the outside of the industrial buildings that made up the Dauntless headquarters, until they got to a final short one and Bellamy pushed through an old fire exit door. _This must be where he lives_ , Clarke thought, taking in the long, narrow loft that served as Bellamy's private place. The wall the door was part of was completely fogged up windows, letting in the last of the light, and to her left was a huge raised bed that looked onto an office space. A partial wall of boxes blocked her view to the rest of his home. A few lights were already on, but they were small, so did little to brighten up the space. It was a soft, dim light, and Clarke was glad to have gotten rid of the green hue or cold white light that lit the ledges and bridges within the headquarters.

Bellamy reappeared from behind the box wall, his jacket gone, revealing muscled arms and a trim torso through his thin black t-shirt and low-hanging black cargo pants. There was a wide smudge of grey dust across his thigh. Just over the side of his collar, Clarke could see tips of his tattoo. "Here, put this on," he said, stretching out a corded black jumper to her. One of his. She'd stripped off her own jacket and over-shirt as soon Bellamy had told her to take a seat, the clothing smelling like cold water and sweat. They currently lay in a heap on the floor beside her feet. It was warm in Bellamy's loft, but Clarke was still shivering, and wearing a ratted and hole-filled black tank wasn't going to stop her from doing so.

"Thank you," she whispered, slipping her arms into the jumper and pulling it over her head, tugging her long blonde hair out of the collar. It was a little big- the sleeves stretching over her hands- and smelt like Bellamy- musk, clean sweat, and berries. Bellamy disappeared off for a few seconds more, and reappeared with a metal bowl of water and a clean cloth.

"You'll be safe here," he said, getting down on one knee before Clarke and ringing out the cloth in the bowl. With his dry hand, Bellamy pushed back the jumper sleeves and took a hold of her hand, before pressing the cold cloth to the abrasions on the back of her hand. Clarke hissed in pain at the contact and covered Bellamy's large hand with her own to still his actions. The skin on the back of his hand was warm underneath her fingertips, and the soldier looked up at her, but Clarke couldn't meet his gaze. In the dim light, he looked soft and perfect, his eyes warm and his lips inviting.

"Sorry," she apologised, taking her hand away. Bellamy continued to look up at her as he placed the cloth on her wounds again. She hissed internally, and her unscathed hand flexed, like she wanted to touch him again, wanted to still his movements, but she held back. Bellamy looked back down at his task, brow furrowed as he concentrated on gently prising away the pieces of rock and dust that'd embedded themselves in Clarke's flesh. Clarke swallowed hard. "I can't believe Wells..." Her voice caught and she trailed off. Wells had been her _friend_. She'd stood up for him, and he'd made her laugh, but he'd tried to _kill_ her. Clarke didn't have many friends in Abnegation, but she knew friends weren't supposed to do that.

"You're moving up through the ranks, and he's failing," Bellamy explained, his voice gruff and brusque, but not unkind. "It makes him hate himself and it makes him hate you." He paused for a moment to dunk the cloth back in the water and ring it out. Clarke could barely feel the pain in her hand now, choosing the focus on the heat bleeding into her palm from Bellamy's. "He's afraid."

"Everyone's afraid," Clarke argued softly, and Bellamy let out a breath through his nose.

"I know, but fear does something strange to people like Wells," Bellamy countered. He looked back up at Clarke, forcing her to meet his gaze. It was so open, and his lips were parted slightly. "But not you. Fear doesn't shut you down- it wakes you up." Clarke stared back at her carer. "I've seen it," he added. Clarke opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but she couldn't think of any words, so she closed her mouth and looked back down at her hand. The cold water had reduced the redness and cleaned away the dirt, leaving red, angry scratches and grazes. Bellamy pulled down the sleeve of her borrowed jumper and rose, metal bowl in hand. "You should lie down," he said, looking at Clarke's upturned face. He knew she shouldn't be up here. He should finish cleaning her up and taking her back down to the bunks, but he could see underneath her brave façade. They both knew that her other two attackers could potentially be in the same bunking room as her, and they could easily kill her while she slept. They'd been given the training for it. It was in his interests as an initiate leader- nothing more- to look after her. "Get some sleep," he ordered gently. "I'll take the floor."

Clarke offered no argument, only nodding silently and shifting backwards on the bed. The muscles in her shoulders and upper arms screamed, and she knew she'd find fresh bruises there in the shower tomorrow. She tried to hide her wince, but once she'd laid down and pulled a blanket up over her, Bellamy nodded to her and walked off, disappearing again behind the box wall. Clarke shifted onto her good side, and it alleviated some of the pain in her shoulders. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, getting drunk on lungfuls of Bellamy's scent, and a part of her secretly wished that this would not be the only time she'd end up in his bed.


End file.
